


Come Down to the Black Sea Swimming with Me

by thefrenchmistake



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JJ Needs a Hug, Post-Season/Series 01, slight PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrenchmistake/pseuds/thefrenchmistake
Summary: If she steps out now and goes to sleep in her house surrounded by memories and regrets and silk sheets instead of going to sleep in a hammock on the beach or a bed filled with her three favorite people in the whole world, it means John B and Sarah are....It means shit.She doesn’t want it to mean shit.JJ and Kiara try to deal with the aftermath of John B and Sarah's deaths, and find it easier together.
Relationships: JJ & Kiara & Pope (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks), Sarah Cameron & JJ & Kiara & Pope & John B. Routledge
Comments: 7
Kudos: 105





	Come Down to the Black Sea Swimming with Me

Kiara can’t step out of the car.

Her mother and father are waiting in the doorway, and she can’t step out.

Because if she steps out now and goes to sleep in her house surrounded by memories and regrets and silk sheets instead of going to sleep in a hammock on the beach or a bed filled with her three favorite people in the whole world, it means John B and Sarah are....

It means shit.

She doesn’t want it to mean shit.

She just wants to close her eyes and wake up, God, she wants to fucking wake up.

She snaps her eyes shut.

The house is still there when she opens them.

Feeling as frail as a sheet of paper, she unbuckles her seatbelt. Opens the car door. Closes it. Walks like a zombie to the door. Her parents probably say something -scolding or comforting, it doesn’t matter- and then she’s up in her room.

The bed is cold. The bed is empty.

Her nightmares aren’t.

She’s been in this position before, feeling trapped and unable to even breathe -hell, she’s felt like this most of her life. Her “Kook year”, as Pope likes to call it, led her to a point so low she thought she wouldn’t make it out (it started with a blade to the wrist and then Sarah Cameron, beautiful and kind and smart, and it ended without her but this time the blade was already thrown away).

She screams and screams all night, torn between the images of drown corpses hovering to the sea surface and cruel fists falling like rain on marble skin.

Bruises and blood and death fill her restless slumber, and her parents go crazy on the other side of the door at her cries because she locked it and won’t let them in.

There is nothing to say and nothing to do, and yet in the morning they scream at each other like madmen because there is no way she is letting JJ stay in an abusive home, there is no way she loses her other best friends. Pope is already drifting away from them, like he does when something isn’t right, except this time they need each other.

JJ isn’t like him.

He doesn’t look like it, but he needs comfort, assurance that one thing is gone but the rest remains.

So she yells and fights and doesn’t tell them about the bruises and the blood because JJ wouldn’t like it, but if her own family can’t trust her when she tells them it’s _important_ , then why the fuck should she trust them with his secret ?

She finally manages to earn the right to go see John B’s house -to take memories, pack his stuff, she lies- and leaves with their phones tracking her location.

She doesn’t care.

****

It’s still raining when JJ walks back, when he crawls and drags his body through the mud and the grief and the guilt after the agents interrogated them again and again and again, and eventually let them go.

He doesn’t make it home.

He knows what awaits him there (there is no way in hell his father won’t hear the news about the Phantom going into a storm, be it tonight or tomorrow morning, and he doesn’t want to be there when his rage explodes), so he painfully makes his way towards John B’s house.

He doesn’t make it there either, his feet halting on the beach of their own volition, still afar from where he wanted to go.

The hammocks stretched between trees, so far from the house he cannot perceive it, appeal to him more than the gold ever has and so he changes his course and staggers to the place where shapes of the Pogues’ bodies are lingering, between the palm trees and the memories of their laughter.

His emotions are suddenly spilling and spilling, like blood in his father’s car, and he stumbles forward, gripping the edge of the netting, because John B and Sarah are dead.

They drowned, drowned, and Sarah will never laugh freely into the night again, and John B will never ruffle his hair again, and their smiles won’t brighten his life and make him forget about his house. Kie’s tear-drenched face still burns in his mind, rendering even more anchored in reality the harsh truth. The memory of Pope’s eyes, empty and blacker than the sky even in the darkest hours of the night, still makes bile rise in his throat.

There won’t be smiles on any of their faces for a long time.

His home is broken.

The morning after, when he opens his heavy eyes and is immediately blinded by the sun, JJ forces himself to walk without any idea of where he’s going. He finds himself at John B’s house, because the police has already bagged everything they could and declared him dead.

There’s no reason to watch a house full of ghosts.

When he arrives, Kiara is standing on the beach. Her back is turned to the ocean so she faces the house.

Like it’s a wonder it’s still here, while everything else is gone.

He walks to her, taut as a bowstring, walks to her and stops right by her side.

She doesn’t even have to look.

“I can’t go inside,” she whispers, like she hopes her confession will drown in the rumble of the waves, like she hopes saying it so low will make it less true.

“I know.”

He waits.

Her hands clutched together and his heart in his stomach, they stay rooted to the spot.

It feels like hours before Kiara shakes herself, violently, too abrupt, and marches towards the house like one marches to war.

He follows, even though his body feels far too heavy to move. Because in hindsight, that’s what he does, isn’t it ? He follows his people, to hell or to the sea.

Just not in death, it appears.

Stepping inside feels like tearing his heart out. Every picture plunges a needle deeper somewhere between his eye and his brains, somewhere empty and filled with regrets.

There’s no fear anymore.

There’s only regret.

****

Running to JJ at the Midsummer party was the easiest thing she had ever done, and jumping into his arms felt like reaching a destination she had no idea she sought. It was so damn easy.

Nothing feels easy anymore.

But maybe it’s just a little easier to wander the house with him by her side (she doesn’t think she would have made it through the doorway without him).

Kiara lets her fingers brush against the furniture: the chair where Pope made a tomato stain, the kitchen table where they never fucking eat, the counter where there is still bread and a dirty fork, and she lets herself bathe in the atmosphere in the hope it might help, either with the grief or driving her to a revelation that could prove Sarah and John B are alive, because…

Because it can’t just… be over.

The police can’t just call their deaths and not investigate Mr Cameron.

And yet.  
Here they stand.

She whirls around to watch JJ, as JJ’s face is more familiar than the empty house, reassuring and honest and she needs that.

The bruises haven’t disappeared, countless beatings in the span of a week breaking his body and mind harder than she could’ve imagined.

Her eyes glaze over.

For a second, he thinks she’s going to cry, but she simply steps forward and pokes him in the collarbone, where there’s no mark.

“This is bullshit.”

She bites her cheek, hard, her body drumming with a sudden energy born from absolute rage.

The emptiness of the house crashes down on her abruptly, walls closing in on her, on them both, slapping them with the hard fact that John Routledge is dead, has been dead for nine months, and that his son is dead, and that Sarah (gentle, sharp, smart Sarah Cameron) is dead, all of it for _nothing_.

“This is bullshit,” she repeats, waving her hands around until JJ takes one in his.

Normally, anger is right up his alley but he seems drained and touch starved and she’ll be the angry one for once, angry at the world and at the situation and at the policemen and at John B’s fear to testify and at Sarah’s going along and at Camron and Rafe and... she’s just so mad, and all JJ is doing is looking at her with those sad blue eyes that pierce right through her as he squeezes her fingers.

“It’s bullshit,” he agrees, but his words are sad and his face is sadder, while her heart drowns in fury.

It doesn’t mean shit, all that they did.

None of it means anything.

She goes to Pope, because even though they haven’t talked in a few days, tragedy strikes them all the same, and he is not the type to look to them for comfort (he’ll seek shelter in books and the possibility of regaining his scholarship).

She goes to him, otherwise she isn’t sure he’ll come to them.

He doesn’t look at her when she shows up, doesn’t look at her when they walk to the pier, doesn’t look at her when they sit down.

Doesn’t look at her when she asks “How are you ?” and he simply shrugs.

He looks at her a long while later though, as the sun is glowing in the sky like all is well (it’s not, and it burns too much and nothing is alright anymore) and he says:

“Can I ask you a question ?”

No trace of anger or resentment paints his features, so she tilts her head to the side and nods.

“Do you think we could’ve worked things out ? You and I, I mean. If things were different ?”

There is no need to ponder, and her apology must show on her face because Pope merely nods and looks away again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“No, I am. I should have never put you in that position. You’re… You’re my best friend, Kie. I don’t wanna lose you to this, not after…”

She clasps his hand in hers, waits for him to look at her right in the eye before she declares, emphasizing every word:

“You won’t lose me.”

He squeezes her fingers once, and gives her a smile.

“Good. Because I’m gonna be buried in scholarships forms and study sheets, and I need someone to make sure I’m alive.”

Kiara smiles.

“I’ll drag your dumb ass out of the house if I need to.”

After a few minutes of silence, he tentatively asks:

“How is JJ ?”

“As best as can be, given the… Circumstances.”

Pope hesitates.

“Did he go home ?”

There it is, the word Kiara doesn’t want to think about anymore, especially not when it’s associated to JJ (she believes they gave him something akin to a home at least, something safe if not conventional, something like what those boys gave her).

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she sighs, and this time she’s the one not looking at Pope.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but he wouldn’t tell me. I think he… I think he stayed at John B’s.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

She sighs again, turning her head up to the sun.

“I don’t know, Pope, he won’t really talk to me. I’m so scared he’ll go home without telling anyone and… anything can happen.”

She chews on her lower lip some before resuming.

“He was so close to John B, you know ? And I think he knew. About JJ’s dad, I mean.”

“That would make sense.”

“Yeah. And he just… I don’t know how he’ll get through this.”

“We’ll help.”

That goes without saying -yet there is still a weight on her ribcage, too heavy for her to breathe normally, because she hasn’t seen JJ in two days, since the coldness of the house was chased away by his fingers wrapped around her wrist, and anything could have happened.

“If we don’t get any news from him, will you come with me tomorrow ?”

Pope nods, and that same weight eases some, because when the three of them are together, they can claw their way out of any situation.

Besides, how could shit get any worse ?

She hears the exclamations before she sees him, because she isn’t even allowed to open the goddamn door anymore.

There is the sound of someone falling and heaving, her mother screams, and Kiara runs downstairs.

In the doorway, past her mom, JJ smiles at her through bloody teeth, holding his stomach and leaning his weight on the doorframe with no care for the blood he leaves there.

“Hey, Kie.”

She rushes to him just as he fumbles over, leg twisted in all the wrong way. Her mother is not screaming anymore, but it comes close to it, and Kiara snaps at her to go get some gauze and alcohol and band aids and whatever the fuck can help.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs in her ear and she can _smell_ the blood, feel its tangy iron taste in her own mouth. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Without answering, she leads him to the couch where he lets himself fall, and she tries to assess the damage. There is a lot of blood, too much for this young face and this young boy and his young life, but the world doesn’t give a shit about that.

She does.

Her fingers carefully lift the hem of his shirt. She pulls it as high as she can, blurting out apologies when he hisses, but she can’t take it off him (his shoulder might be dislocated and there is blood, so much more than the occasional split lip, and there are bruises, darker and more painful than the occasional dark eye, and she doesn’t know what to _do_ ) so she settles on assessing the damage done only to his trunk. There is a lot of damage.

“Move,” her mother orders on reentering the room.

Kiara obeys because she’d give anything to see him on his feet again, and she might be panicking, and her bloody hand has come up to his hair without her noticing and his eyes closed under her ministrations. That’s more important. Her mother can take care of his injuries for now, but Kiara is the only one who can put his mind somewhat at ease.

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” she repeats over and over, and the blatant lie burns her tongue as she wishes it to life, but JJ’s lips kind of twitch up.

“Lucky you’re such a Kook, uh ? Easy to take advantage of.”

She doesn’t even chuckle. She falls to her knees next to the couch so she can be eye level with him, and whisper:

“I’m gonna take care of you, JJ. I swear. You’re not going back.”

It’s the first time she sees him utterly, completely soothed.

“What happened ?” She asks him in a low voice once her mom has bandaged the majority of the open wounds and Kiara’s only task now is to put ointment on the worst bruises. It’s less scary now that the blood is gone, but she’s still on the verge of breaking down so she focuses on the facts.

He doesn’t avoid her gaze when he answers with a sad grimace:

“I finally went back to my house. Dear old dad was expecting me.”

She doesn’t know what to say. There is probably nothing to say, just like there was nothing to say in the hot tub. So she does what she did then, winds her arms around him and holds him close, close, close so he might forget about everything he lost and suffered and think about what he’s got.

“I thought… I thought it would be different this time, you know ? I thought, after the other day, he would…”

He chokes up, abandoning the rest of his sentence and painfully wrapping his own arms around her middle section. She doesn’t say I’m sorry, although the words are there, icy drops of water on her tongue, because it would be useless and would make him feel guilty or enraged.

He falls asleep on her couch once he stopped hugging her and allowed her to tend to the bruises. There are so many, he might have a broken rib, she doesn’t know, it’s just all so _real_. Although it feels impossible right now, she knows that she can lay back and manage her grief in her own time, that she can be a scared child for the time being.

JJ can’t. He can’t rely on anyone.

Her mom is waiting for her in the bathroom, hands clean of all blood and she should thank her, really, especially when she sees the band aids and the painkillers on the side of the sink, but Kiara can’t find it in herself to be grateful to anyone for anything right now.

“Was that why you wanted him to come here ?” Her mother eventually asks as Kiara washes the blood and the feel of JJ’s pain off her fingers and palms.

She doesn’t answer. Her hands are shaking with anger (he could’ve died, right ? He could’ve fucking passed out in his house with a concussion and his piece of shit of a father wouldn’t have noticed or cared).

“Kiara, honey, you…”

“You didn’t even listen,” she whispers, because if she tries to talk at a normal level, she’ll explode. “I tried to… You didn’t even care.”

“Kiara…”

“No, mom. I just lost one of my best friends in the world, and Sarah, and you didn’t even try to… You didn’t even think it was something important, you were so sure it was just a whim, I…”

She lets her hands drop in the sink, leaning on it to breathe properly.

“JJ could have died. He could’ve literally _died_ and it would’ve been my fault, like John B and Sarah and it’s all…”

Her mother wraps her arms around her, and Kiara cries.

****

He recognizes the feeling of being watched as soon as he emerges from sleep.

He doesn’t recognize the soft tissue under his cheek though, but the voices he can hear remind him of where he is, and why.

“I can’t let him go there again, Mom, I just can’t,” Kiara’s voice begins, hard as steel and determined. “We didn’t see, we didn’t do anything for years, and… Now, I can’t just send him on his way like nothing is gonna happen to him.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think we can…”

“We can’t involve Social Services. And his father won’t even lift a finger if JJ doesn’t come back which is…”

“It’s terrible.”

“But it’s good for us,” Kiara states, and JJ almost smiles at her practical mind. “And for him. Mom, please.”

“Ok, honey. Ok. He can stay here for now, but I’m not sure about after, and if someone notices…”

“Then I’ll deal with it. Just… He’ll stay here and then… We’ll figure it out.”

JJ hears the rustle of clothes, and feels Kiara getting closer (he knows her by the way she makes no sound and by her body lotion that smells like vanilla), so he opens his eyes.

There is no smile on her face, only concern that she tries to soothe when she sees he’s awake.

“Hey.”

She seems to shake herself a bit to answer with a frail “hey”.

Trying to sit up, he gives up after not even two seconds, his ribs screaming in protest and his bandages folding uncomfortably. Kiara doesn’t touch him content with a reproachful look.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now ?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “You’re gonna stay here for a while, but that probably means getting back to school. And I think we need to handle John B’s house. Maybe you could stay there when you’re sick of us.”

“I don’t know if going back to school is in the cards for me, Kie.”

“What the fuck are you on ?” She exclaims. “Of course it is.”

“Look, I appreciate what you’re doing for me, more than you know, but it doesn’t mean that you can… That you can fix everything, ok ? I can’t go to school because I need my parent’s signature, I need funds, I need a whole bunch of shit from my legal guardian, whom I can’t change without alerting Social Services. And that’s…”

“A no go, I know,” she exhales heavily, turning her head to the right.

Her profile soothes the lines of worry that draw themselves on her face whenever he’s concerned, and he hates himself for it.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck would you be sorry for ?” She snaps, and he knows she’s not mad at him but more at everything.

His hand lifts a bit from where it’s resting (his body feels so heavy, it’s insane), reaching for her before he simply lets it fall again.

He wishes John B were here.

“It just… I feel like I’m dragging you down.”

“What ?”

“You’ve got prospects, Kie. Your life is far from ruined. You’ve got a family, straight As despite your absences, and you’re... you’re brilliant, you can go anywhere you want.”

“Not without you.”

“Kie. You’re not gonna spend the rest of your life in this shit hole. I don’t have a choice, I’m trapped here. You have so many options, you can...”

“We stick together, remember ? Pogues for life. It’s not because John B is not here that I’m just gonna up and run away. Not again. Never again.”

She turns her head to face him when she declares.

“I’m staying. And when we leave, we’ll go to goddamn Yucatan together.”

This statement causes his entire body to sag under relief. If Kie is here, by his side, nothing is impossible.

“Besides, aren’t we all in our private traps ?” She teases with a smirk.

He groans, making his ribs ache but the pain doesn’t even compare to the overwhelming affection running through him.

“Fuck you’re lame.”

“I’m not. You caught the reference, you hypocrite.”

“Because you made me watch that fucking movie so many times I’ve got it engraved in my fucking brain.”

“You like it.”

“Not really, no.”

For some reason, Kiara feels the need to look him in the eye and go back to being serious, with her brows and lips pulled down.

“I’m not gonna leave you anymore. You got that, right ?”

And it’s so funny, except it’s not at all, because despite there being three guys in the group, Kie is the one to jump to their defense first, throwing punches when she feels the need to, yelling at Kooks (like Midsummer, when she didn’t even know why he was there and stood up for him, the only one to do so -it was only right he surged at Rafe in the bathroom after his comments) and fighting tooth and nail for them, whatever the situation. 

It doesn’t make sense, that she would be the one to protect them like no one ever has -not John B’s absentee father, not Pope’s parents who view them as a liability to their son’s academic future, and certainly not JJ’s dad - and yet she does and never asks for anything in return except honesty.

He gets back on his feet with the rapidity that comes with experience.

Kiara has already checked things out with the police about John B’s house, and for now at least they won’t do anything about it.

They have three months to declare them dead.

Or until they find the bodies.

JJ profusely thanks Kiara’s parents, or as much as he can with his lack of social skills, but they seem to get the message regardless.

Despite Kie’s protests, he wants to get out of their hair as soon as possible, boss urged by the feeling that they’ll call social services if he doesn’t budge and because he does not like to feel like an imposition (although that’s what he’s been feeling his entire life).

His best friend rages a little bit, especially when she notices he’s still limping, but after vain bribing and some filthy curses he’ll have to learn, she agrees to drive him to John B’s house.

“Won’t you need some of your stuff ?” She asks once they’ve been driving for ten minutes or so.

Her question is asked so softly he understands the meaning behind it. JJ might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but he knows Kie like the back of his hand.

“I’m not going back there for now. Besides, I’ve got a shit tone of clothes at the house, in case… Well,” he chuckles, before wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs, “in case something like that happens, actually.”

Once again, he knows she has no idea what to say.

So she falls back on the facts.

“I packed some food in the trunk, so you won’t have to worry about that at least.”

“Kie…”

“And when the stock is empty, you tell me and I’ll take what I can from the restaurant, alright ? You just…”

“Kie. I’m good. You already did…”

“If you say too much I swear I will turn this car around.”

“Have you seen Pope ?” He asks, out of the blue.

It’s been a thought in back of his mind for a few days, stubbornly scratching his brains harder and harder until he can’t help but notice it.

Focusing intently on the road, Kiara gives him a curt nod.

“How is he ?”

“You haven’t talked to him ?”

“Didn’t want to intrude.”

“Intrude ?”

“He’s trying to get his scholarship back, Kie. The last thing he needs is me hanging around.”

After a long pause during which he has no clue what she’s thinking, she admits:

“He was worried about you.”

“Uh ?”

“Oh my God, you guys and your constipated emotions, I can’t deal with that !”

“You’re talking about constipated emotions ?” He snorts, and she glances at him with furrowed brows.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean ?”

“Oh, come on.”

She probably knows what he means, but he absolutely doesn’t want to talk about it further, because that would involve talking about Sarah and John B and that’s not something he is ready to do.

Neither is she, apparently, as she sighs and shifts all her focus back on the road.

The ride to John B’s place isn’t that long. Soon enough JJ leads her inside, and they both ignore the weird mood that settles once they begin putting the food in the cupboards that aren’t theirs.

She keeps glancing at him when she thinks he can’t notice and it’s making him a bit crazy. But it’s also nice, to have someone worried. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t like worrying her, but the gentleness of her touch and the way she fusses around him sometimes, it’s… really nice.

Until she blurts out of the blue when he’s just minding his business with his ass on a kitchen chair.

“You gotta go to school, JJ.”

“What for ?”

“Come on,” she sighs, because she knows he’s replying just for kicks. That’s the kind of things he does, when he feels the illusion of control he’s grasped onto for so long slip between his fingers. Anger bubbling up, he surges up from the chair (his leg screams) and extends his arms on his sides, facing her dead on.

“What do you want from me, Kie ?”

It’s not about a job or school anymore, that much is clear. It’s about more, about things they won’t dare say out loud, at least not now and not in this place. Kiara shrugs like it’s no big deal, but it fucking is, far too much, otherwise they wouldn’t be yelling.

“Honesty, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, alright ? Is that what you wanna hear ? I’m sorry !”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be ok !”

“Well I’m not, Kie !” He explodes, screaming like he hasn’t in a long time. “None of us are ! Can’t you fucking see that ?”

“JJ…”

“No, just... just admit it ! Own it, for fuck’s sake ! We’re screwed up ! All of us ! Look at us. We’re all just fucking pitiful. John B is... he’s gone, and...”

“JJ,” she whispers, and this time she closes the distance, taking him in her arms like she did in the bathtub, except this time he can actually feel her warm skin under his hands and know, know for certain, that she’s here, and that maybe....maybe this family will be ok.

****

At first, Kiara told herself that it was normal, the things she felt around JJ. Pure, raw affection. She thought it resemblant to the way she felt about Pope and John B, except that her heart seemed to flutter more under his gaze, and sometimes, when he was drunk and way more tactile than usual, her skin seemed to burn under his touch and crave for more. More than once, she caught herself before her inebriated mind took it upon itself to grab his hand and pull it up her leg, to the hem of her short (she always wondered what it would feel like, what he would be like with his abrupt movements but gentle nature, and still now, she thinks about it more than she wants to admit).

But she was wrong.

JJ was so easy to love, no matter what everyone else said; mistakes don’t make people love you less, they make them wanna fight for you.

He was a goddamn hurricane, and she didn’t even notice that between poor jokes and teasing and fits of anger and pure affection, he had drawn her to him, and she was caught in the storm that he was.

It was too late, when she noticed that she was falling in love with him. She already knew him too much and cared too much and expected too much. So she let herself fall, and let herself lie.

It doesn’t matter now.

All that matters is this boy who became a man far too early under their eyes even as they failed to notice, this man with hair like the sun and eyes like the sea and blood too hot staining his knuckles.

He matters.

With that realization popping up in her mind while she’s simply doing the dishes at her own home comes the craving of the boys’ presence at her side. She needs her friends right now, needs the two people in her life that understand what she’s going through. So she stumbles over her excuses in front of her mother who lets her go, and she jumps in her car, sending a quick text to Pope demanding to know where he is.

John B’s house is quiet when she arrives there, the kind of quiet from the mornings after party, or the nights spent comforting him after his father’s disappearance.

The bed is already occupied by her two boys, and Kiara’s heart shrinks under both affection (terrible, unwavering affection) and grief (gut wrenching). She crawls between them, letting her head dive into JJ’s torso, hand curled around his hipbone, and bringing Pope’s arm around her waist.

The scent of them, salty and like the heavy air of a Pogue’s good day, filled with sunshine and laughter and reeds, fills her nostrils.

It’s easy to drift asleep.

****

Waking up with his nose in Kiara’s hair is both the best and the worst thing that ever happened to him.

Not wanting to analyze the shit-storm of feelings that it spurs within, JJ is extra careful not to wake Pope or Kiara when he gets up from bed and tiptoes outside.

It’s a beautiful day, like most days are.

JJ chooses to walk for some time, before sitting in the ugly-ass tree John B was supposed to cut down months ago but never got around to do it.

About half an hour later, still in her pajamas, Kiara sits on the branch next to him without a word.

Midsummer night seems so far away, yet he can still remember every small detail like the way her earrings dangled from her ears and the way her dress embraced her every shape, and yes, she was so beautiful in that outfit he wasn’t used to seeing her in, but nothing compared to the way she looked afterwards.

Purple dress clinging to her brown skin, strands escaping her stylish hair, feet buried in sand, eyes gleaming with the firelight, smile incredibly wide on her face, as wide as the moment she ran to him and jumped into his arms like this was where she wanted to be, not in the fancy party with fancy people but with them, those low-lives that, for some unfathomable reason, she loves.

She is always vibrant, bringing colors to his dull life and he wants this so bad, wants to hold her close and kiss her neck, tangle his fingers in her hair and make her laugh against his skin and save fucking sea turtles with her, as long as she allows him to hold her hand and kiss her and just about everything else.

They’re young and they don’t really know shit about relationships, about romantic love, but each time she’s next to him he feels compelled to shift his entire body towards her, tilting his head with a smile on his lips at her taunts and jabs.

He knows he’s in love with her. 

As he turns his eyes to her, JJ is once more dazzled by how beautiful Kiara is.

His heart is a sad thing, all broken and scattered, but for some reason, when he looks at her long enough, he thinks he could be able to mend it.

It’s almost like he can see, splattered on her skin in a thin layer, the gold they found in the well. It’s almost like everything is gonna be fine, like Sarah’s smile will light up the night again, John B’s screams of delight under the mud will deafen them, Pope’s hand will come to drag them all into a hug.

His family has managed, somehow, to gather his pieces, but Kiara has always been the one to appear and feel like hope.

That’s why he can’t handle this, her proximity and her hand seeking for his now. He gets up.

“Stop looking at me like that, Kie,” he grumbles, taking a few steps back in the sand.

“Like what ?” She demands, following him.

“Like it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“What are you talking about ?”

“You, you’re just... you’re always close, and touchy and... and then you look at me that way, and it’s...”

“Don’t go there, JJ.”

“I never go there ! Isn’t that the fucking issue ?”

She opens her mouth once, twice, eyes holding a desperation he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Right. Whatever,” he says, turning on his heels.

“Don’t run from this, JJ !”

“Oh, I’m the one running ?” He provokes, whirling around.“Are you fucking joking ? You kissed Pope, Kiara ! Not the other way around !”

That lands as hard as he wanted it to, and he simply watches as she takes the blow and tries to gather herself.

“Why do you think I kissed him, uh ?” She asks, and suddenly all rage falls flat, giving way to the heavy thing that twists and turns his stomach over every time he thinks about this.

“The fuck if I know.”

“Because you weren’t saying anything, you weren’t doing anything, you never even...”

“Fuck off, Kiara ! You perfectly know how I feel about you !”

“No I don’t ! I never do ! You always make jokes and you alway flee, and deflect, and I can’t know, I can never know !”

“Are you fucking.... whatever, Kiara.”

“See ? See ?”

“What the fuck do you want me to say ? You kissed Pope. You did that, instead of just…I don’t even know why you…”

“Because it’s you !” She cries out. “It’s always been you, since the beginning, and if you could for one fucking second….”

He has always been a man of action, never laying low, always acting instead of thinking, that’s probably why he doesn’t await the rest of her sentence to slam his mouth on hers.

He only realizes she’s pushing him back when her lips leave his and she murmurs:

“JJ, stop, stop.”

He does.

Her eyes are so warm when she looks up, and suddenly fear blurs his sight and festers in his stomach, fear at screwing up their friendship, fear of rejection, fear of every goddamn thing that led him here, on the beach, looking at the girl -woman- he’s in love with and waiting for her to break his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he instantly says, because he doesn’t like admitting he’s wrong but he can recognize his mistakes.

“No, don’t be, it’s me, I…”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, clearly you were just…”

“What ?” She abruptly asks, confusion written all over her face.

“I mean, we’re all emotional after what happened, it doesn’t mean anything.”

He shrugs, all his walls surging up again because it hurts, and he doesn’t want it to hurt, he doesn’t want to hurt her either so it has to be ok, he has to be fine with it otherwise their friendship is in jeopardize and he won’t ever tolerate that.

Kiara is still staring at him.

“There’s no reason to feel guilty, Kie, honestly, it’s… It was stupid, and I was just… I mean of course you wouldn’t… Pope is good, you know, he…”

“JJ.”

“He’s really in love with you I think, and you could… He’s gonna go places, and…”

“JJ, shut up.”

It’s not her words but her hand clasping against his mouth that silences him, and he almost -almost- licks her palm to get back at her and fall into a semblance of normal, but eventually decides against it.

Her eyes jump from him to the side to him again, and she says in a thick voice, like it’s important :

“Look, JJ, you…You’re so easy to love, and it’s so unfair that your piece of shit of a father can’t see that. You’re... You’re a good, loyal, devoted guy. And I love you, and I’m so sorry if I ever…”

Her hand leaves his mouth to pass through her curls as she turns her head to the right.

“I just… I’m so done with you being hurt,” she finally explains, frowning at the sea. “I don’t want you to get hurt anymore. Certainly not by me.”

The meaning behind her words doesn’t really register, but he nods all the same because he’ll take whatever she gives him. Now, after John B, after everything, her being here is more important than whatever feelings he’s harboring for her.

****

When she was little, her mom made her take dancing classes. She really enjoyed them, despite the ache in her limbs afterwards and the blisters on her feet and heels.

Kiara liked the movements, the way they knew how to teach grace and strength all the same, driving them to dodge and twirl and do pirouettes and chassés. She loved everything about it, and yet now that she’s tip-toeing in a weird dance around JJ to get her feelings in check, she finds that she doesn’t like it at all. The ache isn’t satisfying, it’s just painful and irritating. Since the kiss, she hasn’t really dared to go back to the house, because this goddamn kiss once again puts everything into perspective.

She has never shied away from voicing her feelings towards John B, insisting times and times again that he is -was- her best friend. That’s something she used to do with Pope as well, nonchalantly thrown into the conversation between two sips of beer and a nudge.

But never with JJ.

It isn’t because she’s scared, not really. It’s more because she can’t bring herself to lie to him (in any case, he reads her so well he would see right through her and the false confidence and the waver in her voice and the tremble of the words). He’s her best friend but she doesn’t love him as such, she loves him as more, and it’s a problem she has learned to deal with; except now she can’t deal with it anymore.

Kiara is so scared because her relationship with all of these three men -her family- has radically shifted in the past few weeks. First John B and his emotional kiss (a mistake, really, born from grief and a craving for comfort) that seemed to drift her a bit away from the three guys. Then Pope, who just… declared his feelings right to her face in the middle of a goddamn crisis. Then John B fucking… disappeared, and… And now JJ.

The ground has been slipped from underneath her feet, and the scariest part of it all is that she still wants JJ this way. But in the midst of grief and the unnamable shift in her relationship with Pope, what is there to do ?

She doesn’t want to hurt Pope.

She doesn’t want to hurt JJ.

And she doesn’t want to hurt herself.

She needs him like this, close and warm and… And even if Pope is not ok with it, she needs it now more than ever.

Her own needs are prior to Pope’s feelings, Kiara suddenly decides.

In true Pogue style, she jumps him in his room, barging in just as he finishes putting a shirt on.

She doesn’t really know what she’s gonna say.

Sorry seems the obvious choice, but for some reason, it doesn’t come out.

“What the fuck Kie ?”

“We need to talk.”

The silence falls upon them, deafening.

They’re not good at keeping the things that managed to get out bottled up or hanging in the air, they both know that.

“Look,” JJ begins, shifting uneasily on his feet, “emotions are high right now, we’re all saying shit we don’t mean, it’s not a big deal Kie.”

“It is a big deal !”

“It doesn’t have to be, ok ? It just…”

Her arms come around his neck and she knows she is hiding her face from him more than anything else, but she isn’t sure she can look him in the eye right now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and she is probably crying, “I’m so sorry.”

“For what ?” He asks, disbelieving, arms still wide open and not winding around her.

“For making you believe you weren’t good enough.” 

She doesn’t have to explain any further. He can sense it, that her words aren’t just an apology but a confession, honest and heartfelt and maybe the beginning of something. As he hugs her back, holding her close and closer, she sucks in his warmth and furthers anyway:

“No matter how much I love Pope, and how much I don’t wanna hurt him, I can’t give him what he wants, because I… I feel much more for you than I ever could for him. And I can’t change that, I don’t want to. I never wanted to make you think that I didn’t… that you’re not enough. Cause you are, God you are enough, you’re…” She has to gulp the emotion down, and this time she needs to look right at him so she pulls away, until she can lock eyes with him and confess:

“Fuck, JJ, you’re all I’ve wanted for years.”

She sees the realization sink in, first in his face, jaw falling, eyes more intent than ever on her face, and then in his shoulders, sagging, and his hands, twitching to reach for her.

Her heart clenches at the idea that she did this, made him believe that it wasn’t ok for him to touch her anymore. It’s a damn shame, cause she likes it so much, when he plays with her curls unconsciously or pokes her in the arm or takes a joint from her hand and forgets to disentangle his fingers from hers.

Once again, she’s the one to make the first move and cradle his face so she can bring his mouth to hers.

Then it’s kind of a hurricane of emotions and warmth.

Her fingers claw at his shoulder like she wants to tear off his skin, or at least where the bruises bloom, like she wants to tear him open and crush his heart in her hand.

He’s far more delicate than her, fingertips pressing lightly on the skin of her waist. She buries her hands in his hair just as his lips open under hers and their tongues meet, and her heart tumbles over itself.

She loves this boy so much.

She likes the way her brown skin contradicts his pale one (although his is too prone to bruise, too open to wounds).

She likes that his hand is almost the width of her back.

She likes his smile, the one that speaks of life trials and doesn’t hide the fact that their young lives are literally screwed up. She likes his hands, rough and calloused from the many works he does. She likes his peacefulness when they’re at sea, away from all land, and she can see him breathe like he doesn’t remember what lungs full of air feel like. She likes his lips, and she likes his fingers and his eyes and the way he takes everything, even the stupidest shit, to heart.

So she kisses him with all she’s got until he lets himself go and his hold on her becomes stronger, surer, assured that’s she’s right there and she won’t go anywhere else. 

****

Two days later, after multiple kisses and one night spent together, Kiara comes out of nowhere, sprinting towards him on the beach and laughing so loudly JJ is dumbstruck. She hasn’t smiled in weeks, let alone laugh.

Despite the confusion, his heart beats a little faster, pumping a wave of warmth through his body because this feels right, Kiara laughing in the sunlight, jumping in his arms, him spinning her around once just to hear her laugh louder.

“Look,” she screams once she’s back on her feet, and only then does he notice the paper she’s shoving in his face, “look, look !”

He carefully takes it from her hand.

It’s a card. From the Bahamas.

Before even turning it around, his eyes water, and he reads through the blur:

_Safe and sound in Paradise. We’ll harvest the wheat here._

_Hope you’re all ok,_

_We miss you._

_Valérie and Vlad._

Kie is still laughing, but maybe she’s sobbing as well, and JJ lifts her in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, and he twirls around and holds her close and cries in her shoulder.

Pope breaks down when they show up at his house with laughter still on their lips, red rimmed eyes and a postcard from Paradise clenched in their tangled fingers. He breaks down in the middle of his living room, and they cry again, huddled together and not giving a shit if his parents hear them.

From then on, life begins again.  
Everything is made right, and their parents suspect but won’t say a word, because their children have found their smiles again, kiss them on the cheek, work hard and are truthful as much as loyal. A parent can’t ask much more.

Dating Kiara isn’t that much different from being friends with her, it just means more touches and flutters of his heart, and far less pain. Now that they have a future to look forward to and no tragical deaths to bring them down, it’s easy to fall for her all over again. This time it’s quick but smooth, slow and warm. It’s tentative fingers trailing on his arms, it’s his constant craving to kiss her on the lips or the crown of her head or the cheek.

JJ realizes he’s been touch-starved for a long, long time, and now that he gets Kiara so close and happy, he can’t take his hands off her, let alone when she’s huddled against his side in the bed that has become his, her hand playing with his and his nostrils full of her scent (it’s vanilla and monoi and the scent of all his hopes these past days).

Her skin is dark against his pale complexion, darker than the bruises his father left behind, darker than the wet sand he choked on, on the beach, after Topper’s punch, darker than the nights where they passed a joint between them four. JJ likes it so much, because when his head is filled with bad dreams and terrors starring his dad most of all, a glance at any part of her will remind him of the good, of the laughter and the swell in his chest and the feeling of being part of something, something bright and beautiful that lasts a lifetime.

“One year,” Kie smiles up at him, and it’s full of hope and a future overflowing with possibilities, an horizon he’s dreamed of reaching for so long finally made attainable.

He’s never seen that kind of smile before.

“One year,” he confirms, kissing her lightly.

Far from here, far from blood and loss and fear and fists landing on his face.

Far from here, to his family.

To Paradise.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course I'm in love with them, and of course I became obsessed after that stupid ending (what the hell was that kiss with Pope ?!). Considering we probably won't have them together in season 2 (maybe 3) so they won't make Kiara kiss all of the three guys in such a short lapse of time, here goes my little participation. I hope you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments, they're really heartwarming in this stupid weather and this stupid worldwide context. 
> 
> Thank you for reading !


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